and you thought we were done talking about lipstick

After the 2008 election and its discussions of lipstick on various non-human mammals, I would have been happy not to hear anything about this colorful cosmetic again. As it turns out, however, lipstick had just been laying low, saving up for a starring role in my life.

Tuesday mornings I have a babysitter for Gage and Claire is at school,
buying me (at $10 an hour, mind you) four glorious hours to myself. Yesterday, I was sitting at the coffee shop, dorking out on Facebook for a few minutes while I warmed up to knock out some Savvy Source posts. I decided that my profile picture needed updating, so I turned on the Mac's Photobooth and took a shot.

I posted the picture and commented that I needed some lip color. A back-and-forth with Mr. D ensued, with a recommendation that I try red. Since he is a man and does not understand that there are approximately 2,109 shades of red, I modified to "whorish red." (Because if you're going to go with red, you might as well make yourself a harlot, yes?)

Later that evening, Ron was telling me about a conversation he had with a coworker. She happens to be a lesbian. He must have done something prissy -- which is, incidentally, commonplace for Ron, as he is very particular and clean -- when they concluded that he was not, as you might assume, a mere metrosexual. Instead, he was deemed a "lesbian in a man's body."

"So are you a lipstick lesbian?" I asked, curious about this new gender/sexuality assignment, considering this is my HUSBAND, you know.

"I think so," he replied.

"Wait a second. So does that make ME the butch one?"

He shrugged. "I suppose it does."

I don't want to be the butch one. No way. In fact, I'm heading out right now to buy some whorish red lipstick, and I'm planning to wear it ALL. THE. TIME.